"What is it, monsieur?"
"You do nothing but make mistakes. Where did you carry those letters I gave you Saturday?"
Joseph became stolid. Like a statue in some cathedral porch, he stood motionless, entirely absorbed in the labors of imagination. Suddenly he smiled idiotically, and said:—
"Monsieur, one was for the Marquise de Listomere, the other was for Monsieur's lawyer."
"You are certain of what you say?"
Joseph was speechless. I saw plainly that I must interfere, as I happened to be again in Eugene's apartment.
"Joseph is right," I said.
Eugene turned and looked at me.
"I read the addresses quite involuntarily, and—"
"And," interrupted Eugene, "one of them was not for Madame de Nucingen?"